


Hot Bodies and Ice Cold Beer

by sabby1



Series: Station 69 AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, The Dove is Fine: Don't Worry.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: Fire Station AU where Rey tends at the local bar. Hux and Ren, the local fire crew hotties, have left her high and dry. Twenty minutes later, a guy walks in that looks just like the hot stuff who got away. His name's Ben and he doesn't talk much, but that mouth is made for much better things, anyway.





	Hot Bodies and Ice Cold Beer

**Author's Note:**

> So, [twitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitch/pseuds/twitch) left a comment on Tequila Night, sympathizing with poor Rey for not getting any. 
> 
> Then I made a bad pun. And then this got stuck in my head. 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me a few words so I know what you like. Feedback fills my muse like coffee fills my soul.
> 
> ###### 

When he walks back in alone twenty minutes later, all broad shoulders and tight blue jeans blocking the whole entrance in the corner of her eyes, Rey can’t help but smile.

“Forgot something, handsome?” she drawls.

He leans on her bar counter, warm brown eyes peeking out under a baseball cap she doesn’t remember him wearing before.

“Excuse me?” 

The baffled rumble makes her look up from the glass she’s polishing. The face is the same, but the guy clearly can’t be. Nobody grows a goatee in the span of twenty minutes. 

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she says, blinking before she sticks her tongue between her teeth, smiles in chagrin, and shrugs it off. “I’m Rey. What can I get you?”

“Ben,” he says, lifting the baseball cap off a shock of black hair before he slips it back down. “Lager. Whatever’s on tap is fine.” 

She steps over to the tap levers and strokes the handle for their best brew maybe a little too suggestively before she pulls it down and fills the glass. For a moment, she contemplates straightening the glass too soon to create a nice thick layer of foam for a cheap comment about “head”, but he looks thirsty, and sweaty, and tired, so she gives it just enough to make it look nice. 

“There you go,” she says as she slings down a coaster and places the ice cold beverage in front of him. Condensation drips down the side of the tall glass. “Long day?”

“Long haul,” he grumbles back.

“Yeah?” she says. “Where are you coming from?”

“Nescopeck.”

“Where’s that?” 

“PA.” 

He’s not a talker. But she really wants to get to know him. He’s almost a perfect copy of the hot stuff that got away twenty minutes ago, and she doesn’t want to miss another chance.

“You hungry?” she asks, hoping to get a positive response.

He hums in agreement and the noise shoots straight up between her legs. 

“What you got to eat?”

Another really inappropriate joke flies through her head, but she bites her lip real hard and forces herself to give a straight forward response. “Not much, but chef makes a mean California cheeseburger.”

He makes a face. “One o’those veggie things?” 

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “Hundred percent prime American beef,” she wants to add, ‘like you’ so bad, but she swallows it. “Cheese, lettuce, onion, tomato. Comes with steak fries on the side.” 

Ben nods slowly. “I can do that.” 

Rey nods back and beats a hasty retreat. The kitchen crew is playing cards around the staff lunch table. They don’t get much business on weekdays, so the only thing that’s going is the fryer. 

“Chef,” she says desperately, “I need your best California burger and a shit-ton of steak fries.” 

Gial Ackbar looks up from his cards, wrinkled skin wobbling under his triple chin, as he stares at Rey with a blank, unblinking stare from his olive green eyes. 

“What do I look like?” he asks in his thick accent. “Burger fairy?” 

“Please,” she wheedles, dancing on her feet like a little girl, “for me?” 

“Hm.” Ackbar looks immediately suspicious. “Who’s out there?”

He gets up from the table, taking his cards with him, and looks over her shoulder into the front of the house. There’s only one patron sitting at the bar. Ackbar makes a disgruntled noise and gives her a very serious fatherly look.

“Honey, it’s a trap,” he says sternly. “Guy like that will make you cry for days.” 

Rey snorts. “I just want him to make me scream tonight.” 

She bounces her brows while Chef Ackbar makes a wounded noise and grabs his heart. 

“For that,” he says, “I should refuse to make burger.” 

“But you won’t, right?” 

“Ah.” He waves his hand and makes more disgruntled noises, but he’s already heading into the freezer to pull out the meat. On his way to the stove, he kicks the chair leg under the kitchen hand, spurring her into action. 

“Come on, burger fairy. Cut up some onion.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Rey beams. “Thank you!” 

When she gets back to her station behind the counter, Ben is still nursing his beer. 

“Should only be a few minutes,” she says as she leans on the worn wood, arms braced just so to present her boobs in the best possible light. “So, I don’t get truckers in here often. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?” 

Ben makes another humming noise and shrugs his broad, toned shoulders. Rey squeezes her thighs together behind the bar. 

“How did you become a trucker?” 

He looks up under the rim of his baseball cap and there is a smart gleam in his eyes.

“Y’asking how or why?”

She shrugs. “Both?” She’s just trying to make small talk while she figures out how to ask the real question. 

“Did stupid shit, went to prison, got out, needed a job. Took the test, passed.”

Her mouth hangs open in what’s probably an unattractive gape. She’s heard stuff about most convicts ending up as truckers, but she’s still surprised to have it confirmed. 

He’s giving her an expectant look, like he’s waiting for her to ask what he did, so she doesn’t. Instead, she cocks her head to the side and thinks of a different question.

“So, where do you sleep when you’re on a haul across country?”

She honestly doesn’t care much what he did. It couldn’t have been too bad if they let him back out into society. She does care that dropping the subject without comment makes him raise those bushy dark brows and stretch his sinner lips into a smile just long enough for her to catch it before he responds.

“Got a bunk in my rig.” 

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah.” 

“Can I see it?” 

He pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth and gives her a look. She looks straight back at him, smiles, and wills him to understand that she’s not asking for a nickel tour. The moment drags on so long she feels like she might pass out from holding her breath. 

“We’ll see.”

Her knees buckle, but she’s still leaning on the counter, boobs on display, so she doesn’t go anywhere.

Ben finishes his beer and she offers him another one. He accepts. She strokes the handle suggestively while shooting him a very meaningful glance that might as well spell “LET’S SHAG” in bright, glowing letters in the air between them. 

“Rey!” Ackbar’s voice hollers from somewhere inside the kitchen. 

She quickly puts the beer in front of Ben, sloshing some over the side of her hand. Sucking the cold liquid off, she hastily retreats. When she steps through the swinging door, Ackbar is just sitting back down at the staff table.

“Bait’s ready,” he says, pointing to the stove.

On a large white plate, keeping warm, sits a gigantic burger with a mountain of steak fries on the side.

“You’re the best!” 

Rey presses a quick kiss to the man’s sweaty bald forehead before she grabs the plate and heads back out.

“One fresh California cheeseburger, hundred percent beef, with a side of fries,” she announces as she places the plate in front of Ben with a little flourish. “Let me get you some napkins.” 

She tries not to watch him eat, but it’s kind of hard not to when there’s not enough customers to keep her legitimately busy. 

There’s just the couple of guys who’ve been making out in the corner booth since their third shot of tequila and a couple pool shark regulars who are sparring with each other, on the one table that’s not listing, until they can find someone stupid enough to take the bet. 

Ben’s hands are fucking huge, and that mouth is just not playing fair. She watches him take a bite of the thick sandwich and wonders what it would feel like to have those lips close around her quim.

A whimper escapes before she can snap her mouth shut. Her panties are soaked, and her shift’s not over for almost another hour. 

Too soon, Ben finishes the last of his fries and places two twenties on the counter. 

“Keep the change,” he says.

He’s swigging the dregs of his beer and getting to his feet when Rey gives in to desperation.

“I get off in twenty minutes.” 

He looks at her for a long moment, and she seriously thinks about risking her job and jumping over the counter, right now, to show Ben exactly what she wants from him. 

He grins, and it’s the dirtiest thing she’s seen all night.

“You sure it’ll take that long?” 

She laughs because that is worse than any of the lines she bit down on earlier tonight. She doesn’t care. That horrible line lets her know he’s not going to leave her high and dry. 

“It’s on the schedule,” she says, because she doesn’t have a good come back.

Her brain is too busy imagining all the things she’s going to do once she gets out of this bar and into Ben’s rig. 

He chuckles and it makes something warm and tight curl at the bottom of her belly. 

“Blue semi at the back of the lot,” he says. “Come find me.” 

When Rose shows up for her shift, Rey takes less than five minutes to hit the bathroom and freshen up. She shakes her hair out and puts on some cherry lip balm. Then she’s out the back door, heading for the other end of the parking lot.

The rig is huge; the tires are almost as tall as she is. Not sure what the etiquette is, Rey raises her fist and bangs on the driver side door.

It pops open, but the seats are empty. Ben’s large frame is cramped into the space behind them.

“Come on up,” he says and disappears through a curtain.

Rey climbs up the two steps and crawls over the driver seat, trying not to knock into the steering wheel, or the gear shift, or the CB radio hanging from the overhead console. She somehow manages to close the door behind her without incident.

Behind the curtain there is barely a foot of clear space. Ben is right there, sprawled across a twin sized bunk with his arms open. He points at a squat cabinet on her right.

“Storage,” he says, then points to a taller cabinet on her left. “More storage.” 

He lifts his hand to point at the hanging cabinets above the bunk, but she climbs onto his lap, presses her lips against his, and flicks her tongue inside his half-open mouth before he can say it.

He tastes like beer and fries, his goatee tickles, and his arms feel every bit as strong as they look when they wrap around her back and squeeze her tightly. She moans into his mouth and shimmies her hips, trying to get as close as possible. 

When they come up for air, she grins. “I think I get the picture.” 

She takes the baseball cap off his head and drops it on top of the squat cabinet. That’s when she realizes he has long hair, tied at the nape of his neck. 

“Can I?” she asks, tugging at the tight elastic. 

He snorts. “Sure.” 

She drops the elastic on top of the baseball cap and cards her fingers through his hair. It’s thick and soft, and, on a whim, she gives his scalp a couple of good scritches.

Ben drops his face between her boobs and groans, hot breath soaking into her skin. A jolt of pleasure shoots straight to her quim and she shoves her hips harder into his lap, trying to get the friction she needs.

He’s nuzzling her through her tank top as his fingers slip under the hem and start pushing up, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches. She raises her arms and lets him slip the shirt over her head. 

At the first glimpse of her bra, he laughs. “That’s fucking cute.” 

She looks down with furrowed brows and snickers in understanding. The pattern on the bra cups is tiny skulls on pink bows. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

She doesn’t give him a chance to fiddle with the hooks. Instead, she pulls the bra up over her head and drops it on top of his baseball cap. 

Ben makes an appreciative noise. “Those are fucking cute, too.” 

“Thanks.” 

The word trails off on a moan because his face is buried in her chest again. His beard tickles as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and his very large, very warm hand slides over her other breast, kneading just firmly enough to cause that delicious jolt of pleasure between her legs. 

She grinds into his lap and curses at the sensation of her soaked quim and the thick hard length of his prick separated by too many layers of clothes. 

Her fingers scrabble at the back of his shirt, trying to get it off, but it’s pretty much impossible when he won’t come up for air long enough to pull it over his head. She resorts to taking a firm grip of his hair and yanking his mouth of her hypersensitive nipples.

The wounded look in his eyes, like she’s taken away his favorite toy, almost makes her laugh, but she’s too bloody randy for jokes right now.

“Shirt. Off,” she growls.

She nearly falls off his lap when he rips off his shirt in a fast, impatient move, but before she can topple over, he’s pulled her up and gone back to worshipping at the altar of her boobs.

There’s not much room to maneuver, but she needs to get him on his back somehow, so she can take control of the situation and get things moving, because she’s going to explode if they don’t.

With her arms wrapped around his shoulders, she pushes her chest forward, doing her best to shepherd his massive frame at an angle to lie down properly on the bunk. To her surprise, he manages to shift their position and pull her on top of him without ever detaching his mouth from her breasts. 

Rey can’t help but giggle as she plants her hands against the sidewall of the semi and pushes off hard to pry herself away and get up into a sitting position. 

“You’re killing me,” she gasps. “I’m bloody soaked, and I need to come so bad.” 

To prove her point, she grinds down on his naked chest, almost positive he can feel her wet heat through the fabric of her jean leggings.

He smirks. “So much for twenty minutes.” 

“Oh, bugger off!” 

She twists his nipple between her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the wild buck of his hips as he yips. Except, the next moment she’s flying forward and a gigantic hand lands a stinging crack on her bum, setting her entire right cheek on fire. 

Tears spring up in her eyes and she gasps for breath until the fire settles into embers with a pleasant tingle that makes her want to hump the closest suitable surface until she can take the edge off. 

Turns out, the closest suitable surface is Ben’s face. Rey thinks about it for less than a second. Then she let’s her knees slide outward and down until her overheated quim is pushed right up against his surprised face, her bean lined up perfectly with the tip of his prominent nose.

She’s barely gotten to enjoy the sensation when his hands clamp down on her thighs like steel bands and pull her away. A whimper escapes her tightly pressed lips at the loss.

“You want it,” he rumbles, “you gotta take off them pants. I don’t eat denim.” 

She’s never been this flexible in her life, but she manages to twist around and pry off her sneakers and shimmy out of her stupidly tight jeggings and soaked panties without sliding off of him onto the floor. 

When she crawls back into position at the top of his chest, she’s almost positive he’s going to make another excuse. 

But those huge, gorgeous hands grab a hold of her bum and drag her forward the last few inches, and then she forgets all about everything because there is a firm nose pressed against her bean, and soft, wet lips sucking on her quim, and a long, flexible tongue snakes inside her, and she’s gone.

She’s no idea what she’s babbling, but it’s at least some of the right words because Ben is really, really good at this, and she’s going to fly apart, and she does, and it’s so, so good, the best, never like this, just like this, don’t stop, more, yes, right there, oh, god, oh, please, oh, fuck, Ben!

Her legs are shaking and she can barely feel them except for where Ben is holding her in place. The rest of her is ready for more. 

It takes some maneuvering but they end up switching places. Rey is stretched out on the twin bunk with Ben crouched at her feet, contorting to shove his jeans down his legs. 

She gets her first good look at his prick, and it makes her mouth water. He’s cut, like every good all-American boy, and the bright pink bell-end is just the right size to barely fit in her mouth at a stretch. 

When she wraps her fingers around the girth and gives it a firm squeeze, he bucks his hips and groans in that way that shoots straight up her quim.

“Want me to return the favor?” she offers, giving her palm a quick, juicy lick before she wraps it back around that gorgeous prick and slides up and down his length with a little twist of her wrist at the top. 

His expression is tormented, like it’s the most unfair question anyone’s ever asked him. That sinful mouth, still wet with her juices, hangs open as he stares at her like she’s the last bucket of water in the desert. 

Ben shakes his head like it’s costing him for every inch he moves. 

“I wanna fuck you.” 

His hand swallows hers around his prick, keeping her from moving. Then he’s stretching above her, one long arm extended to reach for something in the squat cabinet beside her head.

Rey uses the opportunity to rear up, capture one of his dusky pink nipples in her mouth, and flick the tight little pebble with the tip of her tongue.

“Fuck!” 

The curse reverberates through her mouth and the hand around hers is gone until it cradles the back of her head, thick fingers getting tangled in her hair. Ben presses her closer before he pulls her off, and she makes a mental note that his nipples are really, really sensitive. 

“Minx,” he grumbles through his teeth as he sits back on his heels with a condom wrapper between his fingers.

“Let me.”

She snatches the little foil packet out of his hands and gets it open without much fuss. With the little bubble at the tip pinched between her forefinger and thumb, she rolls the slippery rubber down just far enough to stay in place. 

Then she swoops in and follows the tight circle of her fingers with her mouth, stretching her lips wide and slipping her tongue around the thick, hot length all the way until she has to swallow it down her throat. 

Ben bellows another curse and his whole body trembles. His fist is clenched at the back of her head, tearing at her hair, as he presses her nose into the dark curls at the base of his prick. For a second she’s worried he’s shot his load already.

But he’s sucking in air like he’s been under water too long, and she holds very, very still, afraid to breathe or swallow or do anything. Finally, when she’s almost ready to pass out from lack of oxygen, he pulls her off and she gulps in her first mouthful of breath with a shuddering gasp. 

“Sorry.” They both say at the same time.

Ben’s hand twitches in her hair and then he’s pulling her up and kissing her like it’s the end of the world. She moans into his mouth, her fingers scrabbling blindly against his chest, his neck, his back, anywhere she can reach and hold on for dear life. 

Their lips part with a dirty wet noise and she releases the breath trapped inside her with a shaking exhale of, “Fuck me.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. His hand is a firebrand on her hip. “Trust me?” 

She nods and lets him turn her over onto her belly and pull her up until she’s on her knees with her face pressed into his pillow. It smells like sandalwood and spice. 

Her mouth drops open and she bites into the cotton because the slow stretch of his thick, hard prick pushing into her quim makes her want to scream. She squeezes down around it, just because she can, and her eyes roll back into her head. 

He curses and she keens and it feels so good she’s going to die, but it’s not enough, never enough, so she shoves back. His prick bangs right into that perfect spot, and stars burst behind her tightly shut eyes.

“Yes!” 

She’s babbling again, but she doesn’t care because one of his hands is squeezing her breast and the other is shoved between her legs, rubbing her bean against the heel of his palm with every deep, hard, perfect thrust that follows, and she’s going to come so hard, almost there, almost, it’s like a bloody charge building under her skin, so close, so close, so …

She explodes, screaming into the pillow, forever shaking apart in his arms. 

When she’s kind of coherent again, the first thing she notices is that she can’t take a full breath because there’s a shit-ton of weight on her back. The second thing she notices is that his softening prick is still inside her. She gives it a firm squeeze. 

His groan reverberates through her whole body. 

“Air,” she wheezes out with a chuckle.

He makes a grumbling noise, but his arms tighten around her and he rolls them until they’re spooned tightly on their sides. 

“Ah, blessed air,” she hums in contentment, taking a deep breath.

She’s a little sad the shift in position made him slip out, but at least his amazing body is still pressed against her from the top of her head all the way down to her heels. She slides one leg back over his and hooks the back of her foot around his calf, making it clear that she’s not ready to let him go anywhere any time soon.

Ben chuckles and wraps his arm around her, cupping her breast in a carelessly possessive manner. With his breath in her hair and his hot body rising and falling slowly in rhythm with her own breaths, she can feel herself dozing off.

“This is nice,” she mutters.

“Hm,” he hums in agreement and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I wanna do this again,” she admits quietly, feeling stupid for even suggesting it. 

There’s a long pause.

She mentally kicks herself for being so damn stupid. This was a one time fling, nothing more. The worst part is that Chef Ackbar told her, and she laughed it off, and she hates, hates, hates that he was right, because later she’s going to cry, and Chef will take one look at her, and he’ll know, and she’s stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Steeling herself for the awkward end of things, she unhooks her leg from around his and shimmies toward the edge of the bed. 

His arm around her chest is suddenly a solid bar of muscle and bone, fingers squeezing her breast as he pulls her back against him.

“You gonna be around in three weeks?” He growls the question over her head.

She wishes she could see his face, but all she has is the possessive hand on her breast and the slide of his long, hard leg over hers to read what he means. 

“Yeah,” she says, staring up at the squat cabinet where her bra is still tangled in his baseball cap. “I work regular shifts, Tuesday through Saturday.” 

“Good.” 

His hand leaves her breast only long enough to pick up her bra and slide it into the drawer with the condoms. 

“You can have it back then.” 

She imagines him wanking with his nose stuck in her bra, and it’s funny but at the same time ridiculously hot. 

“Okay,” she says. 

When they do eventually move to clean up and get dressed, she snatches his shirt and slides it over her head. 

“You can have it back next time,” she lies. 

He smiles and it makes her knees weak, so she slides back into his lap and kisses him just because she can. 

The sun is shining brightly outside the windshield when she climbs out through the curtains. His fingers goose her bum and Rey giggles before she climbs into the passenger seat. It molds perfectly to her back. She could get used to sitting here. 

Ben’s slides into the driver seat beside her, his huge frame settling comfortably behind the wheel. He belongs there. 

“I gotta head out,” he says, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. 

“I know,” she says and it sucks, but it’s not so bad, knowing that he’ll be back. 

She steals one more kiss from those sinner lips and then she opens the door and climbs down the steps on the passenger side. 

“See you in three weeks?” 

“You bet.” 

He nods and she bangs the door shut on him, confident he’ll keep his promise. 

She’s never been so unrepentant about doing the walk of shame.


End file.
